


Let's Do Something That's All The Way

by torakowalski



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Borderline underage, First Times, M/M, Past Underage, background Courfeyrac/Jehan - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-29
Updated: 2015-10-29
Packaged: 2018-04-28 20:22:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5104526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/torakowalski/pseuds/torakowalski
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mrs Prouvaire is laughing at him.  Grantaire thinks that’s incredibly unfair of her.  He’s a poor, homeless boy, whose boyfriend won’t have sex with him.  He deserves sympathy and ice cream, not laughter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let's Do Something That's All The Way

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheSunWillRise](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSunWillRise/gifts).



> TheSunWillRise - I hope you enjoy this! I loved the prompt :)
> 
> With thanks to M for reading this every step of the way.
> 
> A note on warnings: I haven't marked this as underage because they're 16/17 here, which is of age in France. There is a very brief mention of other characters having had VERY CONSENSUAL sex at 14, but it's blink-and-you-miss-it.

“Grantaire,” Jehan’s mother calls, as Grantaire is trying to sneak past the living room doorway.

He backtracks, bounces into the doorway, and grins. “Maman Prouvaire?” he asks, beaming until she rolls her eyes at him. “How can I be of service?”

She puts down the bright pink… thing she’s knitting and fixes him with sharp, dark eyes. “Is Enjolras sleeping on the airbed?” she asks.

Grantaire opens his mouth to say that of _course_ Enjolras is sleeping on the airbed, what sort of boy does she take him for? But the lie fades before it can reach the tip of his tongue. The Prouvaires have been amazing to him; the least he can do is not lie to their faces.

“No, he’s probably going to sleep in my bed,” he says. He winces and tries not to blush too appallingly. “But we’re not, I mean, nothing is, you know. We haven’t…”

He gives up on trying to form that particular sentence and just looks at her imploringly.

She’s laughing at him. Grantaire thinks that’s incredibly unfair of her. He’s a poor, homeless boy, whose boyfriend won’t have sex with him. He deserves sympathy and ice cream, not laughter.

“Oh my dear,” Madame Prouvaire says, biting her lip the same way Jehan does, when he’s trying not to laugh at one of them. “I feel as though I should disapprove, but I’ve let Courfeyrac sleep in Jean’s bed for a year, so that would be hypocritical of me, wouldn’t it?”

 _I’m not your son, though,_ Grantaire thinks. He doesn’t say that. Instead, he just grins again and gives her a little salute. “Thank you, Maman,” he says. 

“Go away,” she says, turning back to her knitting. 

Grantaire blows her a kiss and then he goes.

***

Upstairs, Enjolras is sitting on Grantaire’s bed (which is really the Prouvaires’ spare bed, but Grantaire’s been sleeping in it for three weeks now; it feels like his).

“Where have you been?” he asks, dropping the book he was reading. “Did you get distracted?”

“From you? Never!” Grantaire says grandly. He sits down next to Enjolras and leans against his shoulder. “Jehan’s maman wanted to say good night, that’s all.” He wants to tease Enjolras about what she really wanted, but it’s an awkward subject between them, still.

“Oh,” Enjolras says, straightening up from where he’d just started to lean into Grantaire. “Should I go and say good night, too?”

Grantaire grabs him by the belt to hold him back. “No,” he says, “stay with me.”

Enjolras sighs as though Grantaire is being terribly troublesome, but he also sits back down. He turns toward Grantaire, pulling one leg up onto the bed, so they’re facing each other properly. 

“What is my reward for staying with you?” he asks. It would almost be successfully flirty, if it weren’t for the way he looks hard at Grantaire’s ear, when he says it.

“Hm,” Grantaire says, pretending to think about it. “What would you like? A cup of coffee when we meet the others tomorrow? Access to Jehan’s secret porn stash? The answers to that English vocab test you have next week?”

Enjolras has been nodding along with an indulgent look on his face. At that last offer, he looks scandalised. “No, of course not!” he says, then glares, when Grantaire laughs. “As if you even have them.”

“I took that test last year,” Grantaire says, leaning closer. “Benefits of dating an older man.”

“Not much older,” Enjolras says, but it comes out soft, as though he’s losing the thread of the conversation. He’s staring at Grantaire’s mouth. Grantaire licks his lips and waits.

It doesn’t take much waiting. With a tiny nod to himself, Enjolras surges forward and kisses Grantaire. He always starts a kiss like that, as though each time he thinks Grantaire might reject him and he needs to gear himself up for that. It’s terribly endearing.

Obviously, Grantaire doesn’t reject him. Grantaire tilts his head to his preferred angle and kisses him back, their nose and lips and chins slotting together easily. They’ve been doing this for a while now, they’re well practiced.

“Did you brush your teeth while I was gone?” Grantaire asks, after a slow, careful exploration of Enjolras’s mouth has left his tongue feeling minty fresh.

“Of course,” Enjolras says, and pulls Grantaire back in.

 _Of course_ , Grantaire thinks. Of course he brushes his teeth before going to bed, even though there’s no way they’re going to sleep, yet. They once made out for four solid hours; Grantaire would kind of like to see if they can break that record, tonight.

They’re both wearing pyjamas, so it’s easy to slide his hand under the back of Enjolras’s shirt - carefully above the waist - and pull him closer. Enjolras hums into his mouth, a little contented noise that always makes Grantaire’s heart skip embarrassingly. 

“Don’t sound so happy, people will think you like me,” Grantaire tells him, and presses a kiss to the centre of Enjolras’s lips, before Enjolras can argue with him.

“I do like you,” Enjolras says, not one to be distracted. “You know that.” 

“Hush, you,” Grantaire says. “Remember the rule about feelings?”

“No,” Enjolras says, even though he totally does. They both agreed early on that feelings suck and are only to be used when there’s no other choice. “Not at all.”

He’s grinning. He’s such a shitbag. 

“Yeah, right,” Grantaire says, and has to kiss him. Then he has to kiss him again. By the time that kiss is finished, they’re curled up together on top of the duvet, tucked up against each other.

Grantaire loves times like this, when it’s just the two of them and they’re quiet together. 

“Hey,” Grantaire says, tucking one of Enjolras’s flyaway curls behind his ear. His hair is getting long enough that it’s turning into ringlets. Grantaire’s pretty sure he was going to cut it, but then arseholes at school started teasing him, and now he’s probably _never_ going to cut it, just to spite them.

“Hi?” Enjolras asks. He presses a hand to Grantaire’s chest, touch tucked away quietly between them. “Are you tired?”

It’s late, but it’s Friday, and that’s what Fridays are for: no sleep and makeouts, whenever possible.

“Nope.” Grantaire kisses him under the chin, dragging his lips up to Enjolras’s ear, which he thinks about biting. Then, because that seemed like an awesome idea, he does bite it.

Enjolras makes a startled sound, clutching at the front of Grantaire’s shirt. “Oh my god, do that again?” he asks.

“Really?” Grantaire grins, always excited to learn something new about Enjolras, and does it again.

Enjolras moans this time, and rolls from his side onto his back. He uses his grip on Grantaire’s shirt to pull him along too, which Grantaire is totally fine with. Lying down kissing is by far his favourite type and Enjolras is by far his favourite person to kiss.

Grantaire loses track of time - it’s been a while, but definitely not at the record four hour mark - when Grantaire emerges from his kiss haze. He’s more or less fully on top of Enjolras by now, his shirt rucked up his back by Enjolras’s reaching hands, one thigh between Enjolras’s splayed legs.

They don’t do that. They haven’t rubbed off against each other, ever, even though some nights Grantaire has come in one stroke, the second Enjolras leaves.

“Oh,” Enjolras says and pushes up against Grantaire’s thigh, experimentally. Grantaire rocks down to meet him, opening his mouth against Enjolras’s and feeling warmth rush through him at the slide of Enjolras’s tongue against his.

They’re both only wearing pyjama pants, which makes the heat of Enjolras’s hard-on impossible to ignore. Grantaire can _feel him_ , how turned on his is, and Grantaire was already hard, but now he’s _hard_.

“Shit, fuck,” he says and jerks his hips backwards, away from the incredibly tempting line of Enjolras’s cock. “Sorry. Shit.”

Enjolras blinks hazy eyes up at him. His eyes are big, black pools of pupil, much more black than blue. “Why are you sorry?” he asks. “I wanted that.”

God. Grantaire is trying to be good, here. It’s so hard to be good. “Right,” he says, because you should never, ever imply that Enjolras doesn’t know what he wants. “Me too. But, okay, if we do that too much, I’m going to come, and we’re not… there yet.” He can’t help meeting Enjolras’s eyes, hopefully. “Are we?”

Enjolras doesn’t say anything for long enough that Grantaire is about to backtrack, apologise for even _asking_ , when Enjolras swallows and says, “I think I’m ready, actually.”

Grantaire very nearly swallows his tongue. “You _do_?” he squeaks. He clears his throat. “I mean, you do?”

Enjolras nods. “Yes,” he says. “I’m ready.”

God, does Grantaire want to just tear all his clothes off - both their clothes off - but this is big. This is their first time, Enjolras’s first time with _anyone_ and he’s been very clear about wanting to wait.

Grantaire sits up, pulling himself away from Enjolras’s gorgeous, tempting self. “You know there’s no rush,” he asks. “I said I’d wait and, god, I really will. As long as you want. I am that _incredibly gone on you_.”

Enjolras smiles and blushes and still looks very determined. “Virginity is a social construct,” he says, which he’s been saying ever since the possibility of them sleeping together first came up.

“Right.” Grantaire nods. “But you still wanted to wait.”

“And now I want to stop waiting.” Enjolras pushes up onto his elbows and starts to look annoyed. “Are you questioning my decision?” Then he stops looking annoyed and starts looking uncertain. “Unless you don’t want to?”

“Fuck, Enjolras,” Grantaire groans. He’s pretty sure that alone should convey his feelings on the subject, but apparently it doesn’t, because Enjolras keeps on looking concerned. “I want to. I just want… Okay, I’m going to talk about a feeling. I want it to be _good_ , okay? I want it to be really good and I don’t want you to regret it.”

Because Enjolras - gorgeous, golden, top-of-his-class Enjolras is already confusing the whole school by throwing his lot in with Grantaire, the only kid in their school who’s having to repeat their _Première_ year.

Enjolras’s expression softens. He sits up the rest of the way and loops his arms around Grantaire’s neck, leaning in and kissing him gently. “I’m not going to regret it,” he says, sounding very sure. “It’ll be with you. I couldn’t regret it.”

Sometimes, Grantaire has to laugh at Enjolras’s sincerity so it doesn’t break his heart. Tonight, he can’t even manage that.

There’s nothing he can say, he just drags Enjolras in and hugs him hard. He would kiss him, but they’ve done that a lot tonight, he needs something _more_. So he clutches at Enjolras’s back and Enjolras holds onto him just as tightly. 

_I love you_ , Grantaire thinks, forehead pressed tightly into the space between Enjolras’s neck and shoulder.

“Are we - ? Do you want to?” Enjolras asks, breath ruffling Grantaire’s hair.

Grantaire sits up. “I want to,” he says, making sure Enjolras can see and hear that he isn’t feeling any doubt.

Enjolras grins.

Grantaire grins back.

“Let’s take our clothes off, then,” Enjolras says, but he goes for Grantaire’s shirt rather than his own, which Grantaire thinks might be cheating. 

“Wait,” Grantaire says, even though he is super down with Enjolras undressing him. “What exactly do you want to do?”

Enjolras’s blush is gorgeous. “I, oh, I’m not sure,” he says. He doesn’t let go of Grantaire’s shirt, but he stops trying to forcibly remove it. “I thought we’d just see what felt natural, at the time?”

 _At the time!_ Grantaire thinks. “No, yes, definitely,” he says. “Just, okay, if we decide to do anything that involves a condom? I don’t have any.”

“That’s okay,” Enjolras says quickly, but his face is faster even that his words and Grantaire saw the tiny flash of disappointment, before he covered it up. He wonders if that means Enjolras _does_ have something in mind.

“Jehan’ll have some,” says Grantaire, who’s loathed to leave this wonderful bed, but even more loathed not to give Enjolras exactly what he wants. “I could go and borrow some.”

Enjolras opens his mouth, closes it, finally laughs. “I want to say no, but actually, would you mind? Would that be terribly embarrassing?”

“Nah.” Grantaire shrugs. He swoops in and kisses Enjolras hard. “I’ll be right back. Feel free to, um, undress while I’m gone.”

He skedaddles fast as soon as he’s said that, still overwhelmed that he gets to say that, that he’s going to get to see Enjolras naked. He trips over perfectly innocent carpet. Shit, he’s going to get to see Enjolras naked.

For all that Jehan rocks up to school in homemade shoes and clothes made out of curtains, he and his mother live in a big house. Jehan’s mother’s room is on the other side of the first floor from the guest room and Jehan has the attic room.

“Hi,” Grantaire calls up the stairs. “Permission to come aboard, captain?”

“It’s not a ship,” Jehan says, appearing at the top of the stairs. “It was a ship last week. This week it’s a princess castle.”

“Right, duh, I knew that,” Grantaire says. To be fair, Jehan did announce that at breakfast the other morning, but Grantaire really isn’t awake enough to take in information before ten a.m.

“You did,” Jehan agrees, faux-sadly. “But I suppose you can come up, anyway.”

He steps back and Grantaire takes the stairs two at a time, emerging into Jehan’s big, airy bedroom. Last week, his gauzy pink and orange scarfs had been turned into sails, but this week, they’re draped above his bed like a canopy. 

“Okay?” Jehan asks, coming to stand right next to Grantaire, their shoulders pressed together. “I thought you were having boyfriend time? If I’d known there were going to be breaks, I would have made you both watch this thing about Medieval sewers with me.”

Usually, Grantaire and Enjolras schedule their boyfriend time for when Jehan and Courfeyrac are _also_ having boyfriend time. That way, no one’s best friend feels left out (well, except for poor Combeferre, but Combeferre likes quiet Friday nights at home). 

But this week, Courfeyrac is away at some hideous function with his parents and Jehan is alone, while Grantaire is potentially getting laid. Grantaire would feel bad about that but, well, _he’s potentially getting laid_.

“Can I borrow a condom?” he asks, then closes his eyes while Jehan first goes silent, then gasps, then squeals.

“Oh my god,” Jehan says, grabbing Grantaire’s arms. “Is Enjolras finally ready?”

Grantaire opens one eye then the other. He thinks something soppy might be showing on his face. “Apparently?” he says. He lets himself make a wide-eyed, helpless face at Jehan, because this might be wonderful, but it’s also a _lot_.

Jehan presses a soft kiss to Grantaire’s cheek. “Hey,” he says, “you’ve got this.” 

He steps back and starts rummaging around in the jewellry box on top of his dresser. Hopefully it’s for a condom, but it could be for anything. Jehan is the Luna Lovegood of their little high school family.

“I mean,” Jehan adds, “it’s only his first time, the most important time, the time that will set him up for all _future_ times and make or break your relationship.”

Grantaire laughs, his nerves easing. Those _are_ the things he’s worrying about; Jehan mocking them definitely helps. “Fuck you,” he says pleasantly. “You lost your virginity at fourteen behind the bike sheds.”

“Yep.” Jehan grins. “And we’re still together because it was magical. Now.” He brandishes a strip of foil packets. “Will this be enough or shall I raid the emergency box?”

“Tomorrow, you need to tell me about the emergency box,” Grantaire says, “but right now, let me just tell you that I love you.”

“Of course you do,” Jehan says, swinging the condoms back and forth like a pendulum. “I’m your favourite.” He pauses, considering, then nods very obviously downstairs. “Well, second favourite.”

“First favourite,” Grantaire assures him, and smacks a kiss on Jehan’s cheek, before snatching the condoms from him. “Thank you.”

“You show that boy a good time, now,” Jehan yells after him. “Ruin him for all other men. Remember you’re competing against France.”

***

“Why are you laughing?” Enjolras asks, when Grantaire lets himself back into the spare room. Disappointingly, he isn’t naked, but he has taken off his socks.

“Jehan,” Grantaire says. He holds up the condoms. “Look.”

Enjolras licks his lips, which serves to make Grantaire’s brain attempt to explode. “Well done,” he says, with just as much sincerity as he’d give any of their friends, if they passed a test or stood up to the patriarchy.

“It was a difficult feat,” Grantaire agrees. He decides to take off his own socks, so they’re equal. “Full of danger and…” Enjolras is unexpectedly taking off his top. Grantaire has lost all words.

“You were saying?” Enjolras prompts when he emerges, hair ruffled from the neck of his t-shirt.

“I have no idea,” Grantaire says honestly. “It was probably bullshit. Can I touch you?”

“I suspect this would be particularly unsatisfying, if you didn’t,” Enjolras says, but there’s a wobble in his voice, and he closes his eyes, when Grantaire drops down onto the bed and splays a hand in the centre of his chest.

“Okay?” Grantaire asks. Enjolras’s skin is hot under his hand and his heart is beating fast.

“Fine,” Enjolras breathes. He looks down at Grantaire’s hand. So does Grantaire. Enjolras’s skin is several shades paler than Grantaire’s, pinky white and smattered with soft, blond hairs. His nipples are flat, pink discs that Grantaire would rather like to lick.

“God, you’re ridiculously attractive,” Grantaire says. He slides his hand up from Enjolras’s check to curl around the back of his neck and kisses him until they’re both breathless.

This time, when Enjolras tries to rob Grantaire of his top, Grantaire doesn’t do anything but lift his arms and let himself be stripped. 

Enjolras looks at Grantaire in the same sort of way as Grantaire imagines he looked at him, which is kind of a trip. “Fuck, Grantaire,” Enjolras says then drags Grantaire down onto the bed.

Making out shirtless is a hundred times better than making out clothed, and making out knowing it’s leading to more, that it’s foreplay, is a million times better than that. Grantaire ends up between Enjolras’s legs, Enjolras’s thighs solid and strong on either side of his hips, while Grantaire starts to press exploratory kisses to his chest.

“That’s good,” Enjolras says, when Grantaire kisses his collarbones. 

“That’s great,” he says, when Grantaire kisses his sternum. 

“Oh my god,” he says, when Grantaire sucks on one of his nipples, then the other.

“Gorgeous,” Grantaire murmurs against his stomach, licking him there, too. He looks up, chin pressed just above the waistband of Enjolras’s trousers. “What do you want? I’ll do anything.”

Enjolras drapes an arm over his eyes. “I’d love your mouth,” he says, “but only, only if you want that, too.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Grantaire asks, and puts his hands on Enjolras’s waistband. “Of course I want that.” He guides Enjolras’s trousers down over his hips, carefully at first then with more confidence, when Enjolras squirms encouragingly. 

Enjolras’s cock is hard and red and absolutely mouthwatering. Grantaire has done this before, but only once and never with someone he’s felt more than passing fondness for. He didn’t love it that time, but this time, he loves it from the first touch of his lips to Enjolras’s shaft.

“Oh wow,” Enjolras whispers, sounding knocked for six even though Grantaire hasn’t done anything yet. He sounds like any other teenaged boy getting blown, not like the fearsome leader of their revolutionary set. Grantaire did that. Grantaire is all-powerful.

“Oh wow,” Enjolras says again, when Grantaire starts pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses down to his thighs and then back up. 

He doesn’t say anything for long minutes, while Grantaire sucks on his balls, just makes tiny, gasping noises as though anything else is beyond him. He finally finds his words again, when Grantaire shifts up, about to start this thing properly.

“Condom,” he reminds Grantaire, one hand on his cheek. 

“You’re clean,” Grantaire reminds him, but reaches for a condom anyway. For once, he doesn’t want to start an argument. 

“That’s not the point,” Enjolras says, arching up into Grantaire’s touch as he slowly, painstakingly rolls on the condom. “Good sexual practices are important.”

“Yes, dear,” Grantaire says and sucks Enjolras’s dick into his mouth.

Enjolras cries out. His thighs tighten around Grantaire’s shoulders and his hands scrabble at Grantaire’s shoulders. He swears softly under his breath. “I didn’t know it would, fuck, that it would… I didn’t know it would feel like this,” he says, hips jerking in tiny, mostly-controlled little thrusts.

Grantaire grins around his mouthful of dick, taking Enjolras deeper than he’s gone before, partly to show off, partly to see if he can, and more than partly because he really wants to.

He gets Enjolras halfway into his throat before he has to pull back, which he doesn’t think is a bad first effort. Neither does Enjolras, judging by the noises he’s making. 

“Shh,” Grantaire hums around Enjolras’s dick, rubbing his hands over Enjolras’s thighs. Apparently that isn’t soothing, because Enjolras moans and bucks, only just managing to avoid choking Grantaire.

“Sorry, sorry,” Enjolras babbles. “Sorry, fuck. That’s so good.”

Grantaire decides it’s probably safer not to try to answer him, again, but he does experiment with a bit of a curl of his tongue just under the head.

The noise Enjolras makes this time is more like desperate frustration. “I’m really sorry, but I’m going to come.”

Grantaire pulls off long enough to say, “Did someone ask you not to?” then goes back down. It’s only just in time. Three seconds and one long suck later and Enjolras’s back bows, his hips rise up off the bed, and he comes with a beautiful, broken sound.

Grantaire gives him a minute, just enjoying sucking on a softening cock, then sits up and wipes his mouth. Latex tastes disgusting. Enjolras is lucky he’s hot enough to make up for it.

“Wow,” Enjolras says, when Grantaire crawls over him. He blinks and blinks again, sweat in his eyes and turning his hair dark. “Wow.”

“You said that,” Grantaire teases and kisses him. “You have the most ludicrous orgasm face.”

“You didn’t see my face,” Enjolras says. He moves faster than Grantaire would have expected he could, right now, knocking Grantaire’s arm out from under him, so Grantaire lands fully on top of him. “But I want to see yours.”

“A-plus sex move,” Grantaire says breathless but it’s impossible, absolutely impossible, to maintain ironic detachment with Enjolras’s hand sliding into his trousers and curling around his dick. “Fuck. Enjolras.”

“What do _you_ want?” Enjolras asks. 

His grip is a little looser than Grantaire would ideally like and his fingernails are just brushing Grantaire’s skin but, “This, just this, exactly this,” Grantaire begs. 

“But you did more for me,” Enjolras says, nonetheless starting to move his hand. Grantaire is slick enough that it goes easily, his dick slipping through Enjolras’s fist, in danger of coating his lovely fingers.

“It’s not a, fuck, it’s not a competition, Enjolras.” Grantaire manages to get himself up onto one knee and shoves his trousers away. “This is what I want.”

“I like it,” Enjolras says, softly like it’s a secret. “You feel incredible.”

Grantaire closes his eyes, rocking on the edge of losing himself already. “ _You_ feel incredible,” he says. With supreme and laudable effort, he swings one leg across Enjolras’s until he’s straddling him, braced above him, while Enjolras jerks him off. 

He couldn’t explain what feels so right about this position, but it’s perfect: Enjolras below him, flushed and loose-limbed from orgasm, naked and gorgeous and letting himself be Grantaire’s.

“Next time, I want to blow you,” says Enjolras, whose mouth should be illegal. “And, and I want you to fuck me. Will you?”

“Oh my god, have some mercy,” Grantaire groans. He’s so close. Everything feels hot and tight and sensitive and Enjolras wants Grantaire to _fuck_ him. There is no way Grantaire has ever been good enough to deserve this.

Enjolras leans up and kisses Grantaire wetly. “No,” he says softly, wickedly, and pumps Grantaire hard.

Grantaire comes with what he hopes is a sexy groan, not a yelp, holding himself up on shaky thighs and watching through blurry eyes as his spunk coats Enjolras’s hand and arm and belly, a couple of drops rolling down into the curls around Enjolras’s dick.

“Fuck,” Grantaire says succinctly and collapses down onto the bed.

Enjolras rolls over onto him immediately. Not seeming to care that Grantaire is sweaty and sticky and still twitching with aftershocks, he slings his arm across Grantaire’s middle, and presses his face into Grantaire’s neck.

Grantaire just about manages to dredge up enough coordination to hug him back and they lie there for a while, panting and clinging. Grantaire feels as though he should say something, but he can’t think of anything. Everything he’s feeling is too big to put into words.

He should have known Enjolras wouldn’t have that problem, he should have expected that the moment Enjolras has fully caught his breath, he’d sit up and grin down at Grantaire.

“I love you,” he says, clearly enough that Grantaire can’t pretend to have misheard.

“You don’t have to say that, just because we fucked,” Grantaire says, reaching for him. He liked the hugging, he understood the hugging. This part can’t be happening, because Enjolras can’t _love him_ , but the hugging was great.

“R,” Enjolras says, stubbornly refusing to let himself be hugged, until he’s had his way. “I’m aware the timing isn’t ideal, but I wanted you to know. I’ve known for a while. I should have told you sooner. I’m sorry I didn’t.”

Grantaire blinks at him once, shakes his head, blinks again. “Sorry,” he says, “say it one more time.”

“I love you,” Enjolras says, firmly. In the face of Grantaire’s continued bafflement, he finally loses a little of his confidence. “Is there… I don’t suppose there’s any chance you love me, back? It’s fine if you don’t. Of course. I was just - ”

There aren’t many times when Grantaire feels older than Enjolras. This is one of them.

“I love you so much it makes me want to write sonnets in your name,” Grantaire admits in a rush. “Except I can’t write sonnets. I can only love you. That’s all I have. Enjolras, you could do so much better.”

Enjolras closes his eyes for a moment. Grantaire worries that it might be in frustration, but when he opens them again, they’re shining. “I don’t want a sonnet,” Enjolras says, then lies back down.

He presses himself into Grantaire’s arms then sighs and closes his eyes, as though the matter is resolved. Maybe it is. Ridiculous person.

Grantaire reaches under them and manages to get the duvet over them without dislodging Enjolras. He rearranges them a little so Enjolras’s head is on his chest, then curls both arms and one leg around him.

“Mine,” he whispers, mostly playful but also just a little serious.

“Mmhmm,” Enjolras murmurs sleepily. “Yours.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos are love <3


End file.
